Page 38 of Never Landing

And that was it.

I didn’t even stop and think about it. Didn’t consider my future prospects, didn’t give a fuck about my fucking future in advertising, even though I had no idea how the hell I was going to pay for the repairs on Grandma’s house or the property taxes, even as low as they were.

The man was threatening me with complete ruin for the crime of pointing out that he was a liar.

But he was a liar. And a thief. And a swindler.

“If the rest of the advertising industry is anything like working for you, I’d rather be blacklisted. Fire me. I’ll have you in court for wrongful dismissal and be collecting unemployment for the next year. I’m the one who has the files, remember? Good luck recreating the entire Crosslife campaign without my help before January.”

And then I hung up.

And turned my phone back off.

When I went back in to discover Peter looking up men kissing on my computer, it was like...like stepping into a different world. He always talked about the magic in the woods, and part of me, a part that had been grounded in an adult job and responsibilities, had doubted. Even with his pointed elfishears and the fact that I was convinced he was a hundred and sixty-seven years old, I had doubted magic.

But I’d been wrong.

So wrong.

Peter was magic, whether he was forever a child or not. Whether he had magical powers that let him turn a paper from faded and worn to perfect and pristine with just a wave of his hand. He could make me go from terrified, with a pit of dread forming in my belly like a ball of writhing snakes, to completely charmed, in ten seconds flat.

Maybe as much as Doctor Hawking and I were helping Peter grow up, he was helping me...grow up a little less. Or maybe just a little different than I had the first time. Because why did growing up mean that all joy had to take a hike? Why did it mean there was no more magic?

Screw that. I turned, smiling at him, and leaned in for another kiss.

They were almost all cute and chaste, the kisses, but it didn’t matter. It was me, and it was Peter, and we were together. Just like when we were fourteen together, and frankly, I felt a little like I was fourteen again, too.

That was where it had all started going wrong, after all.

When I’d had to go to high school with no friends, no Peter, and no Grandma to be there supporting me. My parents had never really been the supportive types. Or...emotionally there at all. I’d always felt like I’d grown up wrong, because it had never felt like everyone said it should. Kisses under bleachers and first loves and broken romances and success and failure and...I’d done none of that. It was like I’d just drifted through high school, college, and into adulthood, without really changing.

I’d just assumed everyone had lied about how a person changed when they became an adult. All I’d gained when I’d “become an adult” had been even more anxiety.

And standing there in my grandmother’s kitchen, arms around Peter’s waist, pressing my lips against his, all that melted away. We weren’t fourteen or thirty. Weren’t thinking about jobs or house repairs or stress upon stress upon stress. I wasn’t worrying about how soon I needed to look into unemployment or see a lawyer. I didn’t even know if Warren was going to follow through on firing me yet, and frankly, it didn’t fucking matter.

I could mow lawns for money if I had to, like back when I was fourteen. There was a functional lawn mower in the shed, last I’d checked. Peter and I could do it together.

He giggled and pressed his forehead to mine, grinning that perfect, mischievous grin of his. “I always knew it,” he whispered to me, meeting my eye with his own sparkling hazel ones.

I couldn’t help it. I followed where Peter led. I always had. “Knew what?”

“That you’re magical, Everett Bailey.” He glanced aside, down toward the floor, and I half expected to look down and see Bandit sitting there, waiting for us to finish with our silly human things and get back to playing.

Instead, all I saw was the linoleum kitchen floor. About three feet further away than it should have been. Because Peter and I were floating in midair.

We were flying.

24

Peter

We were flying, and given how kissing Everett always felt a little like flying, that came as less of a surprise than it should’ve.

Still, Everett’s arms tightened around me, and I couldn’t tell if he was afraid we’d fall, or he was just delighted. He should’ve known I’d never ever let him fall without me.

With my hand curled around the nape of his neck, I dragged him in for another kiss. I pressed into him, claiming more and more and more. I’d make him mine forever and I swore, then and there, that I’d make him so freaking happy he’d come back to Cider Landing. I’d do whatever it took, because he was my Everett and he?—

“Ow—” He flinched, rubbing the back of his head.

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